Classic Poem

AD PHYLLIDEM

Phyllis, I've a keg of fine fermented grape juice,
Alban wine that's been nine years in the cellar.
Ivy chaplets? Sure. Also, in the garden,
Plenty of parsley.

See my little shack — why, you'd hardly know it.
All the rooms are swept, Sunday-like and shiny;
Flowers all around, altar simply famished —
Hungry for lamb stew.

Neighbours all are coming over to the party,
All the busy boys, all the giggling girlies,
Whiffs of certain things wafted from the kitchen —
Simply delicious.

Oh, of course. You ask why the fancy fireworks,
Why the awning out, why the stylish doings.
Well, I'll tell you why. It's Maecenas' birthday —
13th of April.

Telephus? Oh, tush! Pass him up completely!
Telly's such a swell; Telly doesn't love you;
Telly is a trifler; Telly's running round with
Some other fairy.

Phyllie, don't mismate; those that do regret it.
Phaiton — you know his unhappy story;
Poor Bellerophon, too, you must remember,
Pegasus shook him.

If these few remarks, rather aptly chosen,
Make a hit with you, come, don't make me jealous.
Let me sing you songs of my own composing.
Oh, come on over!f